2013-02-22 Freaked Out By An Angel
What do New Yorkers do when they need some green space? They go to Central Park, of course. Even in the middle of the day on a cold Friday, the park bustles with activity. Kids with sleds and parents in tow, walker and joggers all bundled up, even a guy on cross country skis, making his way along a snow covered trail. Fern usually goes to work on Friday to pick up her paycheck and put in a couple hours if they need the help for the lunch rush, but not today. Today she wanted nothing more than to be out in the sunshine, among relatively non-threatening people. So it is that the young woman comes to be standing on the bridge of Greywacke Arch, squarely in a patch of sunlight, face turned up and eyes closed. She's bundled against the weather as well, in a navy blue bomber jacket that is about a mile too big for her, and obviously secondhand. The flounce of a skirt peeks out beneath, a red and blue plaid that clashes magnificently with her orange and black swirled tights. On her feet are black combat boots, laced up over her ankles, scuffed but well taken care of. The wind has had a field day with her hair, but it's mostly tucked back behind her ears. Arms wrapped around herself, almost defensively, she sighs, straightening her head as she opens her eyes and looks around. "No, I told you. Just agreeing to their demands isn't going to make the merger any easier. If we cave on that, what else will they demand?" It's probably a fairly common conversation to be had at lunch time anywhere in the city. Central Park is no different...after all, business-folk need their exercise and (relatively) fresh air too! The one-sided conversation continues along this vein as Warren Worthington III walks through Central Park. He's wearing a very fine, camel coat against the chill as well as a lightly patterened scarf at his neck -- the typical New York business uniform. The coat, however, has been expertly tailored so as to not to impede the very large, very white wings that spring from his back. So it may not be such a typical sight after all. Walking briskly and having the conversation, he isn't paying much attention to where he's going; he's following a path, after all. He makes his way to the Greywacke Arch bridge but seems to also be ignoring the snow, slush, and ice. He's about to just cross the bridge as if nothing is out of the ordinary when his Italian-soled shoes catch a spot of black ice, sending him sliding and his wings flying out to compensate for his loss of balance. Another voice on a business call isn't enough to draw Fern's attention any more. However, huge white wings kind of catch the eye. She sees them in the corner of her vision, and it takes a moment for it to register before she unthinkingly turns. Her expression is... nonplussed. As if the night before and seeing someone get shot wasn't enough to scramble her a bit, there's an angel walking in the park. Of course there is. For a moment the thought crosses her mind that she's dreaming. She didn't sleep last night, so maybe she actually did fall asleep and she's dreaming this. Wasn't there a movie about this? When the angel in the expensive coat slips on the ice, Fern reflexively steps toward him, hands coming up in an attempt to help even as his wings flap. Already being a little jumpy, the movement startles her backwards just as quickly, and she bumps against the stone railing lightly. Warren windmills a bit, but doesn't fall on his dignity. The phone, however, doesn't suffer the same fate as it flies out of his leather-gloved hand to land beneath the bridge. Only once he's regained his footing does he move over to the stone railing and peer over, "Well, crap." He then looks over at the startled young woman, "Did I hit you?" He doesn't remember feeling any contact, but..."Sorry about that. Are you all right?" The angel swears. Was that in the movie? The first question has Fern's head swiveling, but it's a second before she speaks. "No. No, you didn't hit me," she says quickly. When he asks if she's all right it snaps her into realization that she's all but gawking at him, and that's rude. Cheeks already pink from the cold take a deeper hue, and her eyes drop, an uncertain smile attempting to curve her lips. "I am. Thank you. Sorry about your phone," she adds as the smile stops trying and she looks over the railing pensively. She doesn't stop to think that, judging by the way he's dressed, he can likely get a phone replaced any time he wants without giving it a second thought. Warren is used to the stares. At least she isn't throwing things, which has actually never happened, or hurling insults his way...which has also never happened. It's mostly the stares, but he's used to that by now. Looking back over the bridge, he shrugs, "Thanks. This is the third phone I've been through in a year. Good thing 'falling from heights' is considered 'accidental damage'." There's a grin at the end of that. "Guess I'm going to make another stop before going back to work. You sure you're ok?" There's a pause there before he states, still smiling, "I don't bite, you know." Fern seems almost hesitant to look directly at Warren again, but her eyes drift up as he speaks and her smile ghosts back shyly. "I'm ok. I'm sorry," she says with a soft earnestness, adding, "I'm from Ohio." as if that should explain it quite well. As she hears what she just said she laughs, hands coming up to cover her face for a moment. Her left hand is wrapped in a bandage, right hand sports a pink knit glove. When her hands drop after a beat her face is more at ease. "That was stupid," she says, more lightly. Ok, so it's a guy with wings. She's seen some odd stuff, just not really this close. Not that she's aware of, anyway. "Ohio?" Warren offers back, "Never been there myself. Decided to try and make it in the Big City?" So there might be just a hint of smug amusement in his voice, "Let me guess. You want to be on Broadway." That still does seem to be a strong reason for most to come to the city. Keen eyes catch the bandage on her hand and he nods to it, "You sure you're ok?" The tone isn't lost on Fern, and it sharpens her attention. "Isn't that what everyone from Ohio wants?" she asks, a little ruffled. Ok, so it *is* what she wants, or at least to be closer to Broadway. But the way he says it. Her eyes drop to her hands, left one tilting as she looks down to it, the faint shadow of a rusty spot that didn't quite soak through showing against the white. She looks up, sliding both of her hands into the jacket pockets as she nods. "Yeah, I'm ok." For a moment she studies him, eyes quickly flickering to take him in more fully than just his wings. Warren actually laughs despite her slight ire at his tone, "Oh, I think it's what everyone from outside the city wants when they come here. Any luck so far? Are you a singer and dancer as well, or just do straight theatre?" The laughter fades as she studies her bandaged hand and with a little more concern he asks, "Did you go to a doctor for that?" Well, she sort of did, or at least there was a guy who says he's a doctor there, so Fern nods to the question of her hands. "Five stitches," she offers, less defensively. Her shoulders shrug, barely a ripple within the large jacket, "I sing and dance. I've done a few small things." Ok, two. Now she's not sure if she ought to be bristling or not, the concern in his tone totally throwing her off. "Five?" And it's still bleeding through? Warren grimaces some at that, but...relative stranger who already seems spooked enough as it is. He's not going to push it too far. He does reach into a pocket, however, and pulls a card out from a Frank Lloyd Wright-style card case, "Here. I know that it's hard to get insurance when you're an aspiring actor," meaning, he knows they have to work thankless jobs for little money, "So if it starts getting red or bleeding more or hurts more than it probably should, give me a call. I know a few doctors who would help out." Fern's eyes stay leveled on Warren as he gets his card, and offers it out. She reaches with her right hand, gloved fingers awkwardly brushing against his as she takes it. "Thank you. That's very nice of you." She quickly switches the card to her left hand, tugging off her glove in the same motion, and offers her hand out to Warren. "I'm Fern." Warren looks at the offered hand a moment before he also pulls off his glove to take it, "Warren. Nice to meet you, Fern and...well, not all New Yorkers are rude and rushed." At least, they aren't once their cell phones are smashed to bits. "This city's truly amazing and if I can help a newcomer see that, even just a little, then...that's not a bad thing, right?" Fern's grip is soft but not mushy, hand warm in the cold air. "It's nice to meet you too, Warren." This at least sounds sincere even if she still doesn't look entirely sure of herself. Now that they've been talking for a few minutes his wings aren't quite so daunting, even if it's impossible to not be aware of them, and her smile manages to appear again. She decides to offer, "I work over in Brooklyn... in an Italian restaurant. Anita Bella. If you're ever in the neighborhood." Ok, she still hasn't recovered her ability to speak in complete sentences, apparently. Blonde eyebrows lift when she mentions working in Brooklyn, "What are you doing all the way up here?" comes out before he can stop it. Warren quickly tries to cover it with, "I'm not often in Brooklyn, but I'll be sure to make a special trip. Anita Bella, you say?" This is why he doesn't get the girls. "I like the park," comes the casual answer. Fern isn't about to say she lives in Harlem so isn't far, either. She looks down at his card in her hand, then back up at him. "Yes, it's Anita Bella. The best Italian food in Brooklyn." She wouldn't bet her last five bucks that she'll ever actually see him there. "Well, I should let you get on with getting your phone and all. Sorry again that yours fell." She might just lose that bet if she did. Warren accepts that answer with a smile and he laughs at the descriptor of the restaurant. "I see. Well, all the more reason to come down, isn't it?" When she mentions his phone, he glances down over the bridge once more before looking back, "Thanks, but no need to apologize. Really, it's an occupational hazard." He gives a little flutter of his wings to illustrate that. A cloud passing over the sun shifts, making Fern squint as she looks at Warren. Or maybe she's just sizing him up all over again. This time the movement of his wings brings her smile, more genuine then it's managed so far. She glances around, then asks softly, "Can you fly?" Warren hasn't left either...so he accepts the scrutiny...or squinting, as it may be. The smile is returned and he can't help but chuckle at her question. It's not an uncommon one. "Yes, I can. Can you?" With some of the people he's met, it's not such a bizarre question. Fern's smile finally blooms fully, directed up at Warren. "No, but Daddy always said I could sing like a bird." She steps aside, then backwards a couple steps adding another light tease, "If you'd been flying, Warren, you wouldn't have slipped on the ice." Yep, it's taken her this long to regain her footing when faced with an angel. Her bandaged hand comes up, fingers wiggling in a wave. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs